The man on the porch was growing impatient when he heard the light swish of skirts around the corner of the house. Sauntering carelessly to the corner he looked into the back-yard and saw Helen with a tray in her hands, nearing the back door. She espied him and stopped, flushing suddenly as he leaped lightly to the ground and walked rapidly toward her. Her cheeks became a deeper red when he stopped before her and took the tray, for his eyes were rebellious and would not be subdued, and the first thing she saw was the gold pin which stood out boldly against the dark blue neck-kerchief. She was rarely beautiful in her white dress, and the ribbon which she wore at her throat did not detract in its effect. Later her sister was to wonder if it was a coincidence that the ribbon and his neck-kerchief were so good a match in color. She welcomed him graciously and he felt a sudden new and strangely exhilarating sensation steal over him as he took the hand she held out, the tray all the while bobbing recklessly in his other hand. "Why aren't you in the house paying your respects to your hostess?" she chided half in jest and half in earnest. "The delay will but add to my fervor when I do," he replied, "for I will have had a stimulus then. As long as the hostesses are four and insist on not being together, how can I pay my respects all at once?" "But there is only one hostess," she laughingly corrected. "I am afraid you are not very good at making excuses. You probably never felt the need to make them before. You see, I, too, am only a guest." "We two," he corrected daringly. "I am very glad to see you," she said, leading away from plurals. "You are looking very well and much more contented. And then, this is ever so much nicer than our first meeting, isn't it? No horrid Apaches." "I've gotten so that I rather like Apaches," he replied. "They are so useful at times. But you mustn't try to tempt me to subordinate that eventful day, not yet. It can't be done, although I've never tried to do it," he hastily assured her, making a gesture of helplessness. "Sometimes an unexpected incident will change the habits of a lifetime, making the days seem brighter, and yet, somehow, adding a touch of sadness. I have been a stranger to myself since then, restless, absentminded, moody and hungry for I know not what." He paused and then slowly continued, "I must beg to remain loyal to that day of all days when you bathed an outlaw's head and showed your love for fair play and kindness." "Goodness!" she cried, for one instant meeting his eager eyes. "Why, I thought it was a terrible day! And you really think differently?" "Very much so," he assured her as she withdrew her hand from his. "You see, it was such a new and delightful experience to save a stage coach and then find that it was a hospital with a wonderful doctor. I accused that Apache of being stingy with his lead, for he might just as well have given me a few more wounds to have dressed."